


Not to be Weird, but Are You A Serial Killer?

by PersonyPepper



Series: Let the World Come at You, Love [9]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Annoying Jaskier | Dandelion, Chef Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Flirting, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Is In Love, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jaskier | Dandelion In Love, M/M, Neighbors, but geralt loves him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: “Who are you? You’re good with knives, a freezer conveniently placed in your house where there’s tile on the floor– not to mention your broody mood, coupled with devilish good looks… I’m kinda sure you’re a serial killer.”Amber eyes stare at him for a moment longer before the man’s body begins shaking, ribs huffing as Geralt laughs as silent laugh. Fuck, even his canines are stupid long and Jaskier wonders how they’d feel against his skin, leaving bruises for– fuck, concentrate Jaskier. Serial killer; concentrate.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Let the World Come at You, Love [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898377
Comments: 18
Kudos: 229





	Not to be Weird, but Are You A Serial Killer?

“Why do you have all these knives?” Jaskier sits on the kitchen counter, snacking on grapes after having invited himself over to his new neighbor’s house. The aparment’s barely unpacked, but the kitchen is pristine, everything in place. Geralt decidedly ignores him as he flips the french toast, the too-sweet scent heavenly in the morning air. 

Jaskier wouldn’t even be up right now, it’s barely ten am, if he hadn’t gone to sleep at nearly six yesterday. Thinking back in it, he thanks past-Jaskier for passing out as soon as his shift had ended; he wouldn’t have knocked at his neighbor’s door at nine-thirty in the morning to ask for some sugar to spare for his iced coffee (he’s too broke to go shopping, minimum wage does that, despite the near-twelve-hours he’s worked), and walked into the unfurnished one-bedroom house of his new neighbor’s like Jaskier fucking owned it. 

And of course, he wouldn’t be having some wonderful french toast for breakfast, as Geralt had generously offered to make them breakfast after (very rudely) attempting to get Jaskier out of his house (it’s not Jaskier’s fault, he just has a lot to say and no one to say it to, and Geralt had just been there, looking like fucking Apollo in the early light and Jaskier had begun blabbering about everything and nothing in general). Anyways, back the the question. 

“Geralt. Geralllltttt.” The man doesn’t reply, long hair thrown into a messy bun on his head, tendrils slipping away to frame his neck, and no doubt his face. His newfound friend stares resolutely at the pan (and Jaskier takes a second to let his eyes linger over those back muscles because damn, is he gay, and damn is Geralt hot). He manages to look away, and a little freezer in the corner of the (surprisingly large) kitchen makes him tilt his head in curiosity. “Geralt?”

The man sighs before turning, leaning casually against the countertop beside the sizzling pan in the stove. Jaskier clears his throat, which is absolutely not suddenly dry because Geralt’s thick-ass arms crossing over his broad chest, no sir it isn’t. “Who are you? You’re good with knives, a freezer conveniently placed in your house where there’s tile on the floor– not to mention your broody mood, coupled with devilish good looks… I’m kinda sure you’re a serial killer.”

Amber eyes stare at him for a moment longer before the man’s body begins shaking, ribs huffing as Geralt laughs as silent laugh. Fuck, even his canines are stupid long and Jaskier wonders how they’d feel against his skin, leaving bruises for– fuck, concentrate Jaskier. Serial killer; concentrate.

“I’m a chef.” And Jaskier nearly fucking swoons because a man who can not only cook, but cooks professionally? It’s his Ultimate Kink. “Not a serial killer.”

Jaskier hops off the counter, coming to stand by Geralt as he examines the beautiful, beautiful dish frying in hot butter. “I don’t know: chef and serial killer aren’t mutually exclusive. I guess I’ll just have to spend more time with you and find out for myself.” Jaskier shrugs nonchalantly, his heart racing in his chest because fuck, he falls heads over heels with people way too fucking fast. 

Geralt hums, something low and throaty that does something fun and sexy to Jaskier. Damn, he’s in deep. “If that’s all it takes to convince you– tomorrow at seven work for you?” Jaskier uses his last braincell to keep his mouth from dropping open because Geralt of Rivia, who he’d barged into the home of and pestered insistently, is asking him out on a date? Man must be moronsexual indeed to be into Jaskier with that sort of first impression. 

Lucky for him, Jaskier is a moron, full and through. 

He’s kissing Geralt before he can say yes. (Oh fuck, is he in deep.) 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr's @persony-pepper
> 
> let me know what you thought!


End file.
